


As You Are

by ellaria



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, J/B Shuffled Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellaria/pseuds/ellaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To fight, to flee, between them it meant much the same; they would dance that dance, come apart and still be with each other in the distance, together in a memory, an anonymous message in a newspaper, two blurred lines of a postcard in the mail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Tried to go for a drabble, was off by 362 words. Oh, well, it's the shortest story I've written. The song for this is **Come As You Are** by Nirvana. Lyrics at the end, [song here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqN0ZOEO9oI).

“Come as you are,” was all the note said, a note that now rested in the pocket of her black leather jacket. Brienne would come, undoubtedly; it would be unlike her to pass up an opportunity to meet with him, to force him to face his unfulfilled promises. An invitation meant that he would lower his defenses long enough to let her in, it meant that she would not be shot on sight somehow. Somehow.

It also meant no dresses, no black-tie event as an excuse. No lighting a smoke to signal other agents, no wearing a pair of ill-fitted red heels to draw attention while the Stark girl scurried under tables stealing documents—tonight she would not hide underneath a disguise. _As you are_.

But as a friend or as a foe?

Two steps into his study, the blink of an eye and she had him straddled on the floor. His glass of whiskey shattered as soon as it hit the ground. The moonlight lit up the carpet; the liquid traversed it lazily before being absorbed drop by drop.

“I’ve come,” Brienne whispered, though by then the entire mansion must have heard the noise. It mattered not, she had locked the room faster than Jaime could even register her presence. She would have enough time.

The businessman grinned and her heart beat furiously at the sight. To fight, to flee, between them it meant much the same; they would dance that dance, come apart and still be with each other in the distance, together in a memory, an anonymous message in a newspaper, two blurred lines of a postcard in the mail.

“I see that,” Jaime told her, making no move to defend himself from her assault. She had him in a tight grip, her forearm locked against his throat, barely giving him enough freedom to draw one breath after another.

“We have some matters to settle,” Brienne replied, unfazed by his charm. A few steps were heard down the hallway. “You owe Mrs. Stark.”

“I’m sure she must be eager to see me.” His hands had been still until then, but their inactivity ceased as soon as his fingers made their way up her thigh through her black jeans. “Though not as eager as you.”

A knock on the door. “Everything all right, Mr. Lannister?” came the muffled voice of a young male. Arya’s words made their way to Brienne’s mind: _Josmyn Peckledon. 22. Lithe, brown hair, Taekwondo. Too young. A lousy bodyguard for a man like Jaime Lannister, but trustworthy_. With her free hand, Brienne reached for the tranquilizer gun in her belt, firmly rested her hand against it, unmoving. No need for another innocent to die.

“I just dropped a glass, Peck, nothing to worry about.”

Smart choice. What was not smart was Jaime’s hand heading towards her hip, grasping her roughly as he bit his lip, all seductive glances and suggestive touches. She could not allow herself to lose her focus, could not give into his ways. “You promised,” she growled, losing her patience. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know anymore. They put her on a plane.” Brienne loosened her grip slightly, just enough for him to speak without strain. His fancy white shirt was now wrinkled and his dark red tie was askew. “I tried, but it was too late.”

“Liar.” She let go of her grip. Before she knew it, her hands were fisted against his chest in frustration. “You said you would, you said you’d end it.” Brienne gritted her teeth, willed every one of her tears to remain frozen in her eyes. Jaime’s hand traveled higher, up to her neck. Brienne let it.

“It all changed. Everything changes. There was a time when you picked the right battles.” He dropped his smile and his eyes became bare slits of anger, of something akin to resentment. “A time when you were more than a hitman.” He huffed. “ _Hitwoman_.”

Jaime’s hands closed around her throat, adding more and more pressure until she was unable to draw breath. Brienne’s arms hung limply at her sides, hearing from his lips the truth that she had sought to outrun after every mission, avoiding the dead eyes of every Frey and Bolton she had murdered in the past months, all on behalf of a revenge that was not hers to exact. Remembering every stream of water that had spiraled down a filthy sink as it washed the blood off her hands.

“Am I the last one?” Jaime asked her. By then she was feeling faint from the lack of air, so it was all she could do to nod. “She will release you after me?” Another affirmation, and he let go of her. Quick as a cat, he sat up, but she was prepared to defend herself from his attack. He sought to fling her down, to subdue her, but Jaime was no match for her. She was bigger, taller, stronger, better trained. Trained to protect once; trained to kill now. After a short struggle, they sat closely facing each other, and the knife that she kept inside her boot was planted against his throat.

“That puts a damper on our plans,” he said. “Throws us in a paradox.”

Brienne’s breath hitched in response. Her pulse trembled.

“Do you have a gun?” he asked.

“No.”

Jaime smirked. She dug the knife deeper into his neck, felt the first drops of blood seep over her gloveless hand. The warmth of it sent a tingle of excitement down her spine; he shifted, pulled her on top of his hips, pressed his hardness against her core. His familiar breath was a current of wind blowing away her layers of deception, those carefully threaded coats on top of her identity that were meant to protect her allegiance. Meant to protect the Starks, should she ever fail.

“Of course I have a gun,” came her admission.

He reached for her belt fearlessly, as if the blade was a mere caress on his skin, as if he was unable to feel the wound. Jaime drew her gun, unsecured it, checked to see if it was loaded. As if she would ever use it for an empty threat. She held her breath, waited. “The choice is yours,” he whispered, closing the distance between them.

His tongue brushed her lower lip. Brienne dropped the knife and kissed him with all her might, tasting the truth of everything he said in his lips, feeling her screaming longing fall silent with every press of his lips, with every caress of his tongue. Her indecision hung in the air, the gun in his hand a ticking clock that would determine their fate.

Starks. Lannisters. And in the middle of it all, Sansa.

Brienne broke the kiss, took the gun from him. Wolves and lions, killers against killers, there was no choice to make. She cocked the gun, fixed her finger on the trigger. Arya’s voice came again, fresh in her memories: _three in the hallway after midnight, Peck beside him at all times, four at the front door_. She pulled Jaime to his feet, kicked the door open, placed her gun firmly against his temple. Three steps later, four guns were pointed at her.

“Back off,” Jaime commanded them, his voice calm. “I don’t want my brains decorating the hallway. We just had it painted.” Slowly, as cautiously as a group of deer threatened by a shadowcat, they threw down their weapons. A hallway, two, a staircase; Brienne waited at every turn, making sure they were not followed. The garage door opened, they climbed in one of his Jaguars, threw on their seatbelts. It was going to be a long ride. She hit the gas; neither of them looked back.

Betray the Starks, betray the Lannisters, they were doing both. Brienne had to convince herself they did it for the right reasons, for the greater good. They had to find Sansa Stark.

“I’m glad you came,” Jaime told her with a laugh, leaning back in the passenger seat. Charming. Golden. _As you are_ , he meant to add, but he knew it was not necessary.

As a friend. Always a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> **Nirvana - Come As You Are**
> 
> Come as you are, as you were,  
> As I want you to be  
> As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy.  
> Take your time, hurry up  
> The choice is yours, don't be late.
> 
> Take a rest, as a friend, as an old memoria  
> Memoria
> 
> Come dowsed in mud, soaked in bleach  
> As I want you to be  
> As a trend, as a friend, as an old memoria  
> Memoria
> 
> And I swear that I don't have a gun  
> No I don't have a gun


End file.
